


Broken Crown

by SchwarzerWolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Best Friends, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Conflict, Conflict Resolution, Conflict of Interests, Dancing, Drama, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hate that they like each other, Human Experimentation, Humor, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolved Sexual Tension, Scars, Self-Hatred, Sex Work, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smoking, Sombra loves to mess with Reaper, Swearing, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 21:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30112095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchwarzerWolf/pseuds/SchwarzerWolf
Summary: Reaper has conflicting feelings about the woman he once knew. Additionally, he wants a life he could control - one that isn't filled with the life he already knows.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes & Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Broken Crown

**Author's Note:**

> something i wanted to get out of the way

It was like a dream. Sacred, private, vulnerable. The moments in Gabriel’s life were wrought with strife, conflict and betrayal. Hell, it was probably the only environment he knew how to strive in.

“Stop moving. And shut the fuck up.” He gruffed. Placing a hard boot against another man’s back and applied a staggering force.

Even now. Reyes just couldn’t free himself from the thick of action.

“You know.” A woman’s voice riled across the room from him, spirited and disconcerting. “You really shouldn’t play with your food like that.”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. Sombra could never seem to leave him alone either.

“Extraction?” The wraith inquired. Demanded more like. Straining every syllable of the word in a dark, mellow voice. Distorted by the bone-white mask.

“Soon.” She replied quickly. Concentrated on her holographic panels more than the target they were sent to retrieve.

Reaper narrowed his eyes at Sombra’s activities. What the fuck was she up to? To him, trusting her was like trusting a hungry tiger to not bite when placing a hand within its jaw. His concentration was interrupted when the sad excuse of a man began whimpering and shuffling beneath his boot.

“What did I say?” He growled, stomping harder on his back. “I hate repeating myself.”

Their target was a politician hailing from Iraq. Supposedly he was an ambassador to the European Union as well as a significant financier to the Ministries who operate the city of Oasis. With such significant funding, this man was bound to embezzle some of it to Talon instead. That was how this poor sod got mixed up in this development, that was why they had to travel half way around the world just to find this scumbag.

“You fucked us over.” Reaper growled, “And now…my peers would like to question you. Luckily for you – they want you to answer their questions in one piece.”

“Damn you to hell.” The man squirmed. “My people will find you and cut you to pieces, do you understand? Huh?”

To Reaper, his Arabian accent muddled the pronunciation of several words. In the end, he didn’t like what he said. His response was a crushing pressure applied to the man’s back.

He screamed. Like they usually do. It would appear that no matter who it was or what he does, they all scream. That was the point. Fear. Pain. Concession. It was the universal language _every_ life seemed to understand.

“You can’t do this to me!” The man gargled, “I helped your organization. It was a mistake! I realize that now! Please…please…”

They always begged. _Always_.

“You should’ve thought about that before betraying Talon’s trust. Now I believe I told you that I _hated_ repeating myself. So…good night.” With the handle of his Hellfire, he strikes the man across the temple with enough force to bludgeon him unconscious. Visible bruises and slight bleeding occurred against the man’s head but he was still breathing – good sign. He released his boot from the man’s back and sighed.

 _Quiet_. When was the last time he took the time to just stand or sit somewhere? Alone, unburdened by war or politics. It was lonely, sure. But he’s had enough. Maybe he earned that time alone. Not that he _trusted_ anyone to be alone with. Or rather, trusted himself for that matter.

He took this time to observe his surroundings. A run-down office. Paper work sprawled across the desk, as if it had been neatly organized before hand but was desperately thrown to the side. He tried to hide the fact that he had been sending financial reports to governments that had been investigating Talon and its activities. The patterns and spread of the paper work and desperately opened file cabinets beside his oak desk indicated that he knew they were coming for him.

But how?

Reaper turned his attention to Sombra. Her eyes were glued to her screens, occasionally swiping the panels with a long acrylic nail. He looked outside one of the windows. The alarms hadn’t been triggered – so Sombra did her job. Security cameras within the office had been long spliced with looped filler footage from a week ago, no need to worry about surveillance.

He lowers his guard, returning his attention to the space around him. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and ash – much like the apartment he owned back home in Los Angeles. His gaze falls to the ashtray sitting on the desk. It was cleared out recently. Save the occasional grey smudges left by incoherently smushing the end of the cigarette into the base of the tray itself.

 _It was odd_. Reaper thought to himself. If he remembered correctly, smoking within public places and buildings within Iraq was strictly forbidden. Unless something changed when he wasn’t looking. Then again, what did _he_ know about following the rules?

He could really go for one right now. A cigarette while he was left alone in some quiet corner of the world, drink in hand as he watched the sun go down and the world rapidly drive by him. Needless to say – he’s just about done with it all.

Reaper turned over his shoulder once more, staring at Sombra. What is going on? She’s never usually this quiet…or this concentrated on one thing. It would be seconds before she made a quip about how boring something is, or make a quick remark about his true identity.

Sombra played games, Reaper knew that. Whether it involved human lives, corporate funding and even government manipulation. Reaper had learned to tolerate it. In some ways, he was even reminded of his time at Blackwatch. The political intrigue, the manipulation behind the scenes – the covert operations. It was exhilarating…at the time. Now, it’s left him feeling empty. He _suffers_ from the memories.

“Transport’s coming now.” Sombra says after dissipating all of her screens and stares out the window overlooking the embassy, “You should probably tell her to rendezvous with us.”

Reaper rubs the back of his neck and decided to humor Sombra’s suggestion. He activates the earpiece hidden beneath his cowl and spoke. Sombra turns her gaze to Reaper as he conversed with his back turned to her. He spoke softer than usual. Graveled, dark and mellow – but softer. She smiled. He always did have a soft spot for _her_.

After concluding the conversation, Reaper let out a stifled sigh only to turn around and find Sombra with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

_And there she is again. When she’s not plotting or scheming._

“Gabe…Gabe, Gabe, Gabe.” She tutted mockingly as she begins to pace around the room, maintaining eye contact with him “I know this may not come as a surprise, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on you.”

“Really? I never would’ve noticed.” Sarcasm was never his strong point.

Sombra winced at the reply but continued, “The way you seem to be acting has been…how do you say? Errática. _Especially_ around her.”

“If you got something to say…say it” Reaper demanded as he clenched his fists.

Sombra laughed as she covered her mouth with one hand before letting her arms out into a shrug.

“I’m _teasing_ Gabe. It’s nothing important, just wanted to pull your leg. Get a reaction.”

“Bullshit.” Reaper answers as he hauled the unconscious man over his shoulder and brushed past Sombra towards the open courtyard. Sombra smirked and followed closely behind him.

“But it was such a _strong_ reaction too. If I could see that face, I would save it to my memories.”

He interrupts her by turning on his heel with inhuman speed. She froze infront of him, spotting the shadowy tendrils seething from his body. He taps her chest with a clawed finger as he spoke, “Stay out of my business Sombra. Stick your nose into other people’s lives all you want. But leave _me_ out of your games.”

The woman’s face of shock eventually turned stale and uncaring. Gradually, she delicately pushes his finger away from her and folds her arms. “You care about her.” She said suddenly.

What the fuck.

“Sombra!” He roared but was stopped as she held out a hand to interrupt him.

“Is that necessarily a bad thing?” Sombra continued.

Reaper stared into her violet eyes, scanning for any sense of mischief. _She’s asking this as some form of ruse_ , he thought to himself. _She’s going to blackmail me if I say the wrong things_. As he lingered into her eyes in silence, he realised that she was being sincere. Her lips didn’t furl the way they usually do when she’s plotting something. And there was something in the way she stood up to him. Confident… _concerned_. Like how Jack used to be. Like how Ana used to stand up to him.

 _Like a friend_.

“It’s not.” He finally replied in that soft tone of his. There was a stammer in his words. His idle body language begins to fumble a bit, released from that rigid authoritarian style discipline he held over himself for most of his life time.

Sombra smiled curtly. “You know, I wasn’t joking when you’ve been acting weird. Something’s clearly bothering you. Eating at you.”

He didn’t say a word.

“You stare off into space sometimes. Day-dreaming I’m assuming. I’m guessing it’s about _her_?” She says as she rests her left foot around her right ankle.

He didn’t trust her. Not nearly enough to let her know his actual thoughts. But she was right. Occasionally he would think about the wife of the late Gérard Larcroix. Sometimes he would think about the times he had met her and the things she made him feel. He hated those feelings. Sometimes he would lie to himself that she was just a friend. If that didn’t work, he would say to himself that she was the _wife_ of his late friend.

It simply didn’t feel right.

“We don’t have time for this.” Reaper growled, more to himself than at Sombra. “Let’s get out of here.”

Finally, they breach the doors which linked the main office building and the open courtyard. Sombra takes a deep breath of the night air and sighs. Her eyes linger to the figure approaching them, her rifle contracted and her visor shining bright red.

“Ah, look who decided to actually join us from the rooftops.” Sombra says, placing a hand over the woman’s shoulder. “Usually, you’d grapple on to the drop ship while the rest of us had already boarded.”

The woman’s helmet clicked open, revealing narrow eyes which burned like amber.

“Quiet Sombra.” The woman says in that exotic accent. “I’ve seen that most of the office buildings are empty and the late workers who are usually here have already departed, but that does not mean this place is free of ears.”

“So serious.” Sombra mocked with a face that matches. Carefully she turned towards Reaper with a sly grin, hinting at him with the slight movements of her eyebrows. As if she was trying to ask, _is that why you like her?_

Reaper ignored Sombra’s gestures and turned his gaze to Widowmaker.

“Have you seen anything peculiar outside the premises?” He asked stoically.

“Non.” She replied, “The area is clear. Pedestrians seem minimal, most likely too tired to even remember anything even if they do see our evacuation dropship.”

“Good.” He says solemnly. His eyes dart to her catsuit, the exposed centre revealing ample azure flesh.

The weather was anything but cool in Iraq, yet at nights like these – the desert roared like a blizzard. Sometimes he thinks to himself whether she chose to ignore the cold, that the ‘icy veins’ she has was nothing but fiction. No one can _live_ like that. No one can ignore the _feelings_ they have.

It was on cue. The Talon dropship had arrived and progressively descended just above the ground within the courtyard.

Sombra turns to the pair and bows courteously, “It’s been fun Gabe. But I have some business left in this area.”

Reaper narrowed his eyes, “Sombra…”

“Relajate,” She answers quickly, “Just some contacts I have to meet. Doomfist’s orders if you have to know.”

“Akande needs to keep a shorter leash on you.” Reaper hastily replied.

Sombra flutters her eyes, “Mm, he doesn’t – he thinks I work better _without_ one.” And with that, her eyes dart quickly over to Widowmaker and back to Reaper. He could’ve sworn she’d given him a wink before she disappeared into purple pixels.

Her translocator had gotten her out of situations with him that would’ve been detrimental had she never created it.

Reaper and Widowmaker dart their eyes towards one another briefly.

“I don’t know why you would trust Sombra.” She states sternly as she begins to place her rifle into the cargo hold of the dropship. Reaper follows this action as he throws the unconscious into the ship.

“I don’t.” He replied, “But she has her uses.”

Widowmaker shrugs as she gracefully boards the ship and stands at the edge of the entrance, grabbing one of the dangling handlebars to support her weight. Reaper groaned as he placed two of his hands on the floor of the ship, ready to pull himself up.

Age is really getting to him.

He paused as he sees a hand offered to him. He looks up to find the expressionless Widowmaker staring back at him, signalling for him to take her assistance. He sighed, almost apologetically as he took her arm and feels her give a short but forceful tug, pulling him onto the dropship.

“Thanks…” He says softly, “…Amélie.”

Widowmaker stopped at his words. To hear her name spoken was almost like a taboo. It made her spine tingle. It didn’t make her feel anything, to say the least. Neither complimentary nor offensive. The word wasn’t, ‘it made her feel _good_ ’. Rather, the word she was looking for was…

It made her feel _human_.

Carefully she observed him from the corner of her eye, watching as he stands up and hovers at the edge of the dropship entrance as it ascended. He hooks one of his hands to the handlebar next to hers and they both stand there in silence, observing the quiet city as it’s bright lights begin to dim out one by one. Instinctively she takes a step closer to him. He gazes at her expectantly and she returned that gaze. There was trust. Trust that wasn’t borne from their previous lives as acquaintances, it wasn’t trust forged by their association with the same organisation.

No.

It was trust gained.

Gained through knowing that both of them can watch each other’s backs, can count on one another in the field.

She says to him, tenderly. Her words marbled from the intensity of her accent.

“Anytime…Gabriel.”


End file.
